


also called the great bear, whose tail is polaris, the north star, which guides us home

by eleutheria_has_won



Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Constellations, F/M, Gen, UndrChron Fanfiction Tag, cuteness, gross sobbing, why do I do this to myself?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutheria_has_won/pseuds/eleutheria_has_won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loves the stars, and he loves her, and there is a story, there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	also called the great bear, whose tail is polaris, the north star, which guides us home

**Author's Note:**

> a.k.a. "the stargazing fic"

She is enamored by the stars, from her first glimpse to her last. She makes him buy her astronomy books, and take her out to the countryside to find them, one by one by one, until they can name and find them all from memory. Their life is a web of asterisms. They keep a constellation map, which they annotate themselves, as a scrapbook for their memories.

They find Ursa Major when they are thirteen and awkward and happier than they have ever been, learning what happiness feels like, so glad to be free, so glad to be alive, so glad to be seeing stars for the first time. They find out it's _called_ Ursa Major when they are fourteen, and somewhat more concerned with kissing than star-finding; his father finds them a moment later, and breaks them up with a strategic bucket of water, to his sisters' uproarious laughter. His fingers trace Orion when they are fifteen, and starting to learn who they are and could be, how these equations change when they factor in the variable _together_ ; her fingers trace him a moment behind. No one finds them, then.

Andromeda, she learns to ride a neighbor's horse - rented for the evening - and complains of chafed limbs, and he teases her about princesses, for which she punches him and loftily reminds him she's a queen. Canis Major and Cetus, they spent hours building a magnificent snow fort, with an open roof so they can see the sky. Draco and Ursa Minor, there's a box in his pocket and he’s starting to sweat, except then she asks _him_ first, and it takes twenty minutes for him to stop laughing his ass off or kissing the life out of her long enough to actually say yes.

Hydra, Leo, Virgo; it is the night before, and he would so nervous, except they’re lying in the grass together and maybe he shouldn’t be seeing her in her dress like this, but she is so beautiful in this moment, he couldn’t stand to be anywhere else; they fail on having impulse control, and so a few hours later there’s some fast talking when his mother asks why there are grass stains on the wedding gown with a skeptical and slightly murderous look.

Cassiopeia, and she’s exhausted and sweaty and glowing, and there’s a bundle shared between their arms, and they name their daughter Cassie as they point to her namesake for the first time, but not the last, because she is the most beautiful thing they have ever seen, and one day she will wear a crown of gold and a city underground will bow down before her.

Ophiuchus, the night before, she’s as amazing in war - a sword in her hand, a scream of challenge in her throat - Capricornus, the night after, as she is in peace - a diplomatic smile on her face, words of reconciliation falling from her lips like rain. Perseus, they pour over plans for a city together, her fingers resting lightly on the words Gnawer District and his on its across-the-city companion, Nibbler District. Cepheus, she laughs in relief at his dramatic reenactment of her plunging her sword into the ground at the heart of the city of Pax, christening it for the three hundred colonists of five species who live there now as of the previous day, and there are laughter lines around her eyes. Sagittarius, they both stand in his younger sister and her young cousin-brother’s wedding party; the bride and groom are too caught up in each other to pay attention, which is a good thing, because she ends up secretly making faces at him the entire time out of boredom and he ends up trying to laugh _quietly_ , because not laughing at all isn’t really happening.

Bootes, he cradles his nephew and godson with a look of awe and gratitude, and her love is not the bonfire it once was, full of exultation, but a steady torch to see her through the long nights. Crater, she mumbles into his chest that it was a good ceremony, her grandfather had died knowing the peace he worked for, and he holds her when that’s not enough to stop tears. Cancer, it’s her turn to hold him, whispering that she, too, had been happy, she’d known good lives for her children and grandchildren alike before she died.

Scorpius, and their daughter Cassie places a careful ear to her mother’s belly and says she hopes it’s a brother or maybe a bat, because those could both be fun to play with. Eridanus, and Cassie’s disappointed it wasn’t a bat, but she looks up the stars and she _guesses_ a brother could be fun, too, and Arthur’s a pretty name, anyway, and her mother says she’s glad Cassie approves.

Aquila, the years are going by faster than ever, and suddenly somehow Cassie has a bond and Arthur’s learning languages from his aunts and uncle so he can talk to all his other friends in their languages instead of just his. Gemini, he loves her deeply still, she will never not be as brilliant and bright as that endlessly brave child he first knew; he will never not be to her that tragic, noble kid that has sassed her every step of the way, and she’d be lost without it. Aquarius, she ignores the stares and claps louder than anyone when Cassie graduates high school with honors; what does it matter if she looks odd to them, when she has a love who looks at her like he’s never met anyone more dangerous in his life and kisses her like he needs it to breathe, no matter the graying hairs at both their temples. Taurus, the fight lasts three weeks before their family and friends finally get through their mutual stubbornness, and they make up, and they make love under the stars like they’re thirty years younger all over again.

Capricornus, he walks their daughter down the aisle for the first time, she cries a little when she places the circlet on Cassiopeia’s head, she is naming her the new queen of the cities Regalia, the Fount, Pax, Concordia, and the Haven, and they lay in the grass at night a week later and wonder if they ever could have predicted this for themselves, way back when through the decades, when they were young and stupid and innocent. Hercules, his father goes peacefully, in his sleep, of old age. Pegasus, he walks their daughter down the aisle for the second time, he’s the one crying this time, and under the stars he strokes back her hair gone half way to gray by now and she smirks and asks him if he’s ready to be grandparents; he is not.

Pisces, and they are old. The stars are faded to their eyes, and the stories fading, too. They have half a dozen grandchildren, another two dozen great-nieces and -nephews and great-grandchildren-in-the-works. Their daughter is hailed as a queen of queens who sparked a golden age for all the Five Warmblood Nations, their son is a diplomat whose touch is felt in treaties that shape their nation’s history; both of these have already found their first grey hair. As for him and her, their hairs have nothing left _but_ grey. The lines in their faces, carved by laughter and tears alike, are deep and many. These days, memory is more real to them than anything, as the ghosts of all those who have passed before them - and there are many, for they have lived long as well as happily and well - beckon them from the mist at the corners of their eyes, and they look forward to reunion with a deep, abiding joy and secret smiles shared between them. Their hands are frail, sword-calluses a distant memory for both of them, but they still have as much strength to hold each other’s hands as they always have. They will always hold on.

When their daughter goes to scatter their ashes under the stars, their grandson goes with her. He looks up at the sky with a face stained with tears, and his mother takes him in her arms, even though he outgrew her care years ago, and she points to the first stars she sees.

"Do you see that?" she says. He doesn’t speak. "Your grandmother, she loved the stars, almost as much as she loved you or I or your grandfather." The daughter laughs. A childhood’s worth of memories wells in her tears. "My parents would sit out here for hours, finding constellations I’m sure they knew by heart, and they’d do it as eagerly as if they’d never seen them before, every time."

Their grandson croaks, "Really?" around the lump in his throat.

Their daughter smiles, her tears falling into her hair. "That one there," she points, "That was my mother’s favorite. That was the first one I can remember them teaching me when I was a girl.

"It’s Ursa Major."


End file.
